Chapter Three

Whew! These just keep getting longer and longer!

I had planned on this being a three chapter story, but it looks like it's going to be four chapters, so stay tuned!

Sherlock opened his eyes to the early morning light in his bedroom. He had crashed after the investigation into Jeremy Hawcourt's fatal food poisoning, even though there was no real investigation. He had only needed to look over his body once before solving it. Well, Molly had solved it, too; he had only backed up her findings. But considering the emotional overload he had endured yesterday through John and Molly (and a few other people on the streets), he figured his body needed to recharge. Besides, he didn't really get this opportunity during his cases.

Sherlock reached his hand over to pick up his mobile on the bedside table, frowning as he felt some paper against his fingers. He raised his head as he brought the phone in front of him, finding a Post It stuck to it. He removed it and read what was written on there.

1. People point it out.

Sherlock frowned, recognizing the handwriting as John's. Why had he done this? The note didn't make any sense. Sherlock shook his head, dismissing the whole thing and not giving it a second thought.

Until he opened his wardrobe for clothes.

Another Post It was tacked onto the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe's door. Once again, it was John's handwriting.

22. You get bored easily.

Sherlock frowned, staring at the note. Was John writing up complaints about him? This was an odd way of addressing flatmate issues. Sherlock huffed and crumpled the note up, tossing it across the room. He reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a suit and shoes for the day. He then walked over ot his dresser and open his sock drawer. Right on the top was another Post It.

18. You manage your environment.

Seriously, what the bloody hell?

Sherlock crumpled this note up as well and tossed it over to join the other two. Laying his clothes for the day on his bed, he then turned towards the door to the adjoining bathroom, finding yet another note on it.

19. You don't like narcissists.

Sherlock huffed out an annoyed breath and ignored the note.

It was clear by now that John was going down some kind of list, out of order, it would seem, in order to make a point. Whether that point was to tell Sherlock to straighten himself out or not, he had no clue. John had never had a problem with him like this before. He would just have to wait for the other eighteen Post Its, since John wasn't currently in the flat; that much he could feel. The flat was mercifully devoid of alien emotions. And accordingly to the frequency of the other Post Its already, his answer would not be long in coming.

Sherlock stepped into the bathroom, closing the door that led to the hall and turning to relieve himself. He then moved to the sink to wash his hands, finding another Post It on the wall right above the faucet.

5. Strong intuition.

That one didn't really sound like a complaint so much as a statement of fact. Was that what this was about? Telling Sherlock what he was like? That didn't make any sense. Whatever John's point was, it was eluding him.

Sherlock stripped out of his pajamas and turned towards the shower, finding another Post It on the shower curtain.

9. You can easily tell when someone is lying.

Sherlock unconsciously filed that away and went about his morning hygiene routine, finding another two notes while brushing his teeth and shaving.

3. Negativity overwhelms you.

4. Being in crowded places overwhelms you.

Sherlock could feel something niggling at the back of his mind, as though he knew the reason behind this, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he turned towards the door to his room, discovering a Post It on the inside of the bathroom door that led to the hallway.

16. You are sensitive to sounds and sensory feelings.

Sherlock stared at that one for a moment before stepping through the door to his bedroom. Once he was dressed in his pressed pants, crisp dress shirt and dressing gown, he headed out into the kitchen, disappointed to see that John had not made tea that morning. Then again, he had apparently been busy with other things.

Sherlock turned towards the fridge, finding another note on the door.

17. You don't like too many things at once.

Sherlock shook his head and opened the fridge to grab the milk and set it on the counter. Turning towards said counter to grab the tea kettle, he spotted a Post It stuck to it as well.

7. You must have alone time.

Sherlock grabbed the kettle and filled it with water in the sink, putting it on the stove to heat. He pulled open one of the kitchen cupboards to pull out the tea, spotting a Post It stuck to the tea shelf.

6. Pain intolerance.

Sherlock frowned at that one, not really understanding where it fit in with the rest of them. Then again, the first note had said "People point it out." That one made even less sense.

Sherlock pulled the tea out, setting it next to the milk. He then moved to another cabinet to get a cup and saucer. Another note was placed on the saucer.

15. You have a very vibrant inner life.

Okay, this was starting to get a little strange. Since when did anyone think he had a "vibrant inner life"? That didn't make any sense whatsoever. He worked very hard to project a calm, collected and cold exterior. It would take Sherlock himself to deduce who he really was. Well, maybe Mycroft, but he already knew.

Sherlock finally had his tea prepared, and he turned towards the sitting room to enjoy it, finding that John had closed the siding doors that separated the kitchen and sitting room. And, of course, there was a note there.

10. You are more sensitive to stimulants/medications.

Well, that wasn't really any secret. John knew about his drug history. Was he getting ready to write a biography or something? Seriously.

Sherlock slid the doors open and stepped over to his chair, finding a Post It on the backrest.

12. You frequently have lower back and digestive problems.

Sherlock froze and stared at that one, frowning in confusion. How had John spotted that? Maybe he had finally learned the art of deduction from Sherlock's refusal to eat during cases. Well, good on John. He'll have to remember to congratulate him later…if he remembers.

Sherlock sat down in his chair, enjoying his tea before he continued with this bizarre scavenger hunt. He paused suddenly, having spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Glancing up at the mirror above the fireplace, he saw the Post It John had placed there. Sherlock rolled his eyes, placing his tea on the table next to him and climbing to his feet to go read it.

14. You often feel fatigued.

Well, that one was no mystery. Sherlock kept himself awake for days on end during his cases. Then again, he wouldn't exactly use the word "often." Sherlock was usually a bundle of energy, bouncing off the walls and unable to rest. Had John gotten confused here?

Sherlock peeled the Post It off the mirror and tossed it into the fireplace, turning to the dining table by the windows and opening his laptop to check his emails. Taped to the screen was another note.

8. You avoid negative media images.

That's when the worry began. There was no possible way for John to know that. John always saw him pouring over newspapers and media websites, searching for crimes for him to solve. Sure, it bothered him, but he couldn't let anyone in on that. He was a consulting detective, for God's sake! How would it look if he refused to deal with negative images?

How had John figured that out?

Slamming the laptop shut, he jumped to his feet and strode towards his violin, his refuge when things became too much. Except today.

A Post It was stuck to the lower bout of his violin.

13. You are the dumping ground for the problems of others.

How? How?

Sherlock glanced around, wondering if maybe Mycroft was messing with him. But it was impossible. Even if Mycroft had tried to imitate John's handwriting, he never could have gotten it completely perfect. This was totally and completely John.

What was John playing at?

As he turned back around, another something yellow caught his eye. A Post It was stuck to the window. Sherlock brushed the curtain aside to read it.

20. You can almost feel the days of the week.

This wasn't right. Something wasn't right. He still wasn't quite there; the truth was still somehow eluding him. But he could tell something was there, something that he should be worried about. He had to get out of here.

Sherlock dropped his violin into his chair and hurried to the door to the flat, pushing it away from the wall to grab his coat from the hook on the back of it. He rushed to pull the coat on, snatching the scarf from it and finding a Post It on the door underneath it.

11. You often show up with the symptoms of those around you.

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly at those words. It was there. It was right there, and—perhaps out of shock—he couldn't quite get it. John knew something; he knew something and this was his way of telling Sherlock. But what could it be? What was there about Sherlock that John didn't already know?

And just as his mind latched onto the answer, his hand brushed against a piece of paper stuck to the inside of his coat sleeve.

Sherlock reached into his left sleeve with his right hand, pulling the Post It out. He held it for a moment, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't true. Finally, he brought the note up and read it, his hand shaking.

2. You feel other's feelings.

Sherlock's heart stopped in his chest. It wasn't possible. It simply wasn't possible. John was a practical being; he would never entertain such a ridiculous notion, let alone one so spot on. How had he figured out—How had he—How!

Sherlock bolted out the door, tearing down the stairs and through the front door.

Sherlock burst through the doors of his brother Mycroft's office, marching right up to the desk.

"How can I help you, Sherlock?" said Mycroft in a bored tone, not even looking up from his work.

Sherlock slammed his hands down onto the edge of Mycroft's desk, leaning into Mycroft's space. "What have you done?"

Mycroft looked up at him, taken aback slightly by Sherlock's furious face. "Whatever do you mean?"

"John," Sherlock bit off.

Mycroft let a frown cross his face as his hand clenched slightly. "I have no idea to what you are referring."

"You have not been talking with John," said Sherlock, having calmed down.

"Of course not," said Mycroft, leaning back in his chair. "I am far too busy to entertain your friends."

Sherlock spun away from the desk. "Then how did he figure it out? How?!"

"And what has John figured out, Sherlock?" asked Mycroft, smirking.

Sherlock turned towards him, eyes narrowed. "You know." He walked towards the desk again. "You know he knows!"

"Sherlock—" began Mycroft.

"Why haven't you told me?" Sherlock shouted.

"He seemed determined to tell you himself," said Mycroft.

"How did he figure it out?" Sherlock demanded yet again.

"I suggest you go find out," said Mycroft, going back to his work.

Sherlock turned to leave the office.

"Oh, and Sherlock?" said Mycroft, not looking up.

Sherlock stopped and looked back at him.

"You might want to keep a lid on those outbursts from now on if you wish to keep your secret," said Mycroft.

Sherlock frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Mycroft looked up at him. "It appears that your gift is capable of transmitting as well as receiving."

Sherlock stared at him. "You were…feeling my emotions?"

"Indeed," said Mycroft. He gave Sherlock a look. "Perhaps you can put that to good use."

Sherlock stared at his brother as he went back to his work, looking at the floor for a moment before leaving.

Sherlock slowly made his way up the stairs, feeling a jolt of anticipation running through him and not able to tell if it was him or John. When he finally reached the first floor landing, he stepped quietly through the door, standing at the threshold and staring at the doctor sitting in his armchair in front of the fireplace reading a newspaper.

"So, had a good morning, did we?" said John, not taking his eyes off of the paper.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, confused by what he was getting from John. There wasn't revulsion or hatred or even fear. There was only amusement. "How?"

"I'm not as stupid as you think," said John, lowering the newspaper and folding it up. "I am capable of putting two and two together." He turned and offered a wry smile to Sherlock.

Sherlock was still standing at the door, staring at him.

John cocked his head towards Sherlock's armchair. "Take a seat." He set the newspaper on the side table and locked his fingers together, waiting.

Sherlock finally took an unsteady step forward, stepping over to his chair and sitting down across from John. They stared at each other for a long while before Sherlock spoke again.

"How?"

"Came across an interesting website, a lot of the characteristics fit you, so I did a little experiment," John explained.

The shock faded for a moment in lieu of his amusement. "Experiment? You?"

John shrugged. "Eh, you rubbed off on me."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "That's why you made me bring you your wallet. It was a test."

"Yeah, sorry about that," John told him. "Had to be sure."

"Hmm," said Sherlock, crossing his arms. "What else was a test?"

"Well, first I watched how you behaved at a crime scene," said John. "Anderson seemed to work you up quite a bit."

Sherlock shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Yes, but now that I knew what to look for, it was quite obvious," said John. "Your behavior was always based on how you reacted to those around you. Then, it was the wallet. I had to see if it was true about the illness thing. And last but not least—"

"Molly," said Sherlock.

John nodded. "I told Molly that story of the case to see if her hilarity rubbed off on you."

Sherlock nodded in approval. "Clever." He lowered his hands to the armrests, avoiding John's eyes.

John sighed. "Sherlock, this doesn't change anything."

Sherlock looked back at him, frowning.

"Just because there's something special about you doesn't make you any different," said John. "You're still you."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, delving into that amused enjoyment he felt. There was nothing negative there whatsoever. John was telling the truth.

Sherlock shook his head, looking down at the floor. "You're never going to change, are you?"

John frowned, taken aback by the statement.

"You're still the most loyal and trustworthy friend a person could have," said Sherlock, looking up at him with a grateful smile.

John paused, smiling back as he cleared his throat. "So, where'd you run off to in such a hurry that you left your dressing gown on?"

Sherlock frowned and looked down to see that he was indeed wearing his dressing gown underneath his coat. He chuckled as he looked back up at John. "Mycroft's."

"You thought he told me, didn't you?" asked John.

Sherlock nodded. "I did. And the visit wielded some…interesting results."

"Interesting?" asked John.

"I…gave Mycroft my anger," said Sherlock.

John's eyes widened. "You can do that?"

"Apparently," said Sherlock. "Never been able to do it before."

"Well, that's something," said John.

"What is?" asked Sherlock.

"A way for you to unload," said John.

"Unload…" said Sherlock.

"Yeah, when it gets to be too much, you can dump it on me," said John.

Sherlock's brows rose.

"Within reason," said John, raising a hand. "Don't go pouring it all on me."

"You would really do that for me?" asked Sherlock.

"Of course," said John. "You need to be able to take a break from it, right?"

Sherlock looked down at his lap for a moment before looking into the fireplace. "There are times where I can't even tell what I'm feeling is real or not. Sometimes, I don't know who I am anymore."

"Then let me help," said John.

Sherlock looked up at him, contemplating it for a moment before nodding. "Okay."

John smiled at him before clearing his throat awkwardly and looking away.

"How did you know?" asked Sherlock.

John frowned and then looked at him. "I'm sorry?"

"How did you know I would find those in order?" asked Sherlock. "They very obviously led up to that last statement. How did you do it?"

John chuckled. "Sherlock, we've been flatmates for years. I think I know your morning routine by now."

Sherlock smiled at him. "Good. You're improving." He steepled his hands in front of him. "By the way, what was number twenty-one?"

"Sorry?" asked John.

"Your notes had twenty-two points, but there were only twenty-one Post Its," said Sherlock. "What was number twenty-one?"

"'You're a great listener,'" said John, giving him a grin.

Sherlock chuckled. "Well, no one's perfect."

John laughed as he got up to order them some lunch.